


Shadows on the Alley Wall

by louciferish



Series: YOI tumblr shorts [8]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Fairy Yuri Plisetsky, Hero Otabek Altin, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Tumblr Prompt, Urban Fantasy, but not by otabek or yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 10:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16407188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: Otabek Altin was born with a Hero's Aura. In the Once Upon a Time days, that might have meant something, but now it's not much more than a red flag. Nevertheless, it means he's fated, caught up in the threads of destiny until he winds his way to the end.





	Shadows on the Alley Wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SHSLshortie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHSLshortie/gifts).



> Thanks to SHSLshortie for the prompt, "modern fantasy", which obviously grabbed me in its teeth and ran away.
> 
> A note on Yuri in this fic: why is he aged up? I don't know. I wrote it that way on reflex and only realized I'd done it despite the fact that they don't even kiss when I was 80% finished with the story. It's just where the idea took me, I guess. So, there's no practical reason for the fact that Yuri is pretty clearly an adult here.

_Stop me if you’ve heard this one._

_A hero from the hinterlands leaves his home and ventures into a towering forest, holding a crudely-drawn map in both hands. He carries nothing but his trusty weapon strapped to his side. His stride is confident, masking the truth - he is lost._

_Nevertheless, he presses onward, slipping between the trees in search of the path he needs. He’s on a quest, and he can’t afford to hesitate. At the end of his journey, a treasure of great value awaits…_

-

Otabek throws himself to the side just in time and feels the whoosh of displaced air as the cyclist goes careening past him on the sidewalk. He plasters himself to the side of a car to catch his breath and wait for his heartbeat to slow, but unfamiliar hands shove at him, fingers jabbing between his ribs.

“Outta my way,” the old man growls, clawing at Otabek’s side. “This is my ride. You get your own!”

With a mumbled apology, Otabek pushes away from the taxi and rejoins the steady flow of pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk. 

He pats his pockets and lets out a relieved breath, finding his phone still safe in his jeans. He pries it out, then squints down at the navigation app. The blue dot blinks serenely up at him, only a couple blocks away.

It winks out. It reappears again, halfway across the city. Cursing, Otabek shakes the phone, as if that will do any good at all.

The air in the city is thick with interference. As if the looming skyscrapers of glass and cold steel weren’t bad enough for his signal, it’s layered like lasagna with smoke and smog and a thousand or more overlapping magic fields. Each piece of the puzzle only serves to smother his signal more, turning his phone into little more than a light-up paperweight.

He gives the phone a final shake and checks the screen again. A passing traveler slams their shoulder into his as he looks down, sending him reeling to the side and into another stranger. 

Otabek takes the opportunity to duck away, into the marble-lined alcove at the base of one of the skyscrapers. Maybe, surrounded by stone and out of the path, he can get his app working again.

There’s a grunt nearby, and he looks up to find a uniformed doorman watching him through narrowed eyes. The man is squat and stocky, broad in the chest, with thick red curls spilling from beneath his round cap.

It’s not the first time Otabek’s encountered a dwarf - there are plenty of clans in the surrounding mountains back home - but it’s a stark reminder that in a city like this, magic can be found in the most unexpected places.

The dwarf’s suspicious gaze hangs heavy across Otabek’s shoulders as he restarts his phone. His mother had warned him that strangers in the city might not trust him, but it’s still an uncomfortable feeling. In the old stories, humans with a Hero’s Aura were always treated with deference and respect, and expected to return favors to those that helped them after achieving their destiny.

But one too many of those so-called Heroes turned out to be jackasses in the end, using the backs of those that helped them to climb to greater heights, then spitting on the people below. Nowadays, a Hero’s Aura is seen as little more than a warning sign of a potential troublemaker. The dwarf’s reaction is understandable.

His phone finishes booting up, and he reopens the map, letting out a relieved breath when the app loads and the blue dot blinks up at him, once more only a couple blocks away. He pauses to give the doorman a nod of acknowledgement, then sets off down the sidewalk.

It’s a relief when the directions tell him to turn off the main thoroughfare, cutting along side roads and through an old industrial park. The squat, deserted brown and grey buildings with their dark windows might feel threatening to others, but Otabek is only grateful to get out of the press of humanity. 

Away from the busiest parts of town, his signal strength improves. He lengthens his stride, pressing onward to his goal.

He’s nearly through the abandoned industrial park when a grunt catches him off-guard. Raised voices echo, gruff and barking from between two of the buildings. Some instinct makes him pause at the sound, and the tugging currents of destiny push him in for a closer look.

Two towering humanoid figures obscure most of the alley, the width of their shoulders blocking even the light from passing through. Their gravelly voices and mottled greyish skin give them away as ogres, or at least half-ogres. Otabek hasn’t met enough of them to be comfortable with the differences.

One of them has a third, slim individual pinned against the cinderblock wall of the building, and his thick fingers are spread out to fully envelop the smaller person’s chest. 

Otabek winces as he sees the rough bricks scrape across a pair of papery dragonfly wings at the third man’s back. Fairies are known to have their own type of wiry strength on top of their famed speed and agility, but their wings are just as fragile as they seem.

The ogre pulls the fairy away from the wall by his shirt, only to shove him back into the brick, shaking him like a broken toy. “Give up. Hand over the damn dust already,” he growls.

Otabek starts to take a step forward, ready to intervene, when the fairy’s hand wraps around the ogre’s wrist. He glares up at both of them through a fall of tangled blond hair, and spits back, “Do I fucking look like I have dust on me right now?”

Ah. Otabek had heard addiction to fairy dust was common in the cities, but he’d never taken the claim seriously. While the substance is natural for the fairies themselves, it affects other species in strange ways. The most common symptom of exposure is euphoria, but there are rumors of even more profound effects if it’s ingested. 

The fairy is right, though. He doesn’t look like he has a speck of dust on him. His hair hangs limp and dull, and there’s a smudge of something dark across one of his cheeks. He’s not shimmering like the fairies Otabek’s seen on TV. 

Despite that, the fairy’s face is set in a determined glare, and he looks more than capable of handling things himself. Otabek shouldn’t interfere. He shouldn’t-

The second ogre lumbers forward, pressing in toward the trapped fairy from the other side.

Fuck it.

“Hey!” He interferes.

All three turn to look at him. The other ogre - the one not pinning the fairy to the wall - chuckles. The sound is like stones dropping into still water. Now that he’s facing him, Otabek can see a jagged white scar crossing his hairline, ending just above one sightless white eye.

“Look here, Rog,” the ogre says, nudging his buddy. “Another little guy that thinks he’s got big balls.”

“Oh no,” Rog drawls, deadpan. “I’m terrified. He might punch me in the fucking knee.”

“Let him go,” Otabek says, and he takes another step forward into the alley, casually slipping his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans as he widens his stance. “He doesn’t have what you want, anyway.”

If he’d had a choice, Otabek would never have been born a hero. He knows some guys are into it, but personally, he’d like a normal life - the kind that doesn’t shove him into alleys and make him stand up to guys double his size.

But, he’s learned to live with what fate handed him.

Scar-face lumbers toward him, a swagger in his movement that screams of overconfidence. He’s not the first guy that’s underestimated Otabek just because he’s compact, and he won’t be the last. Otabek stands his ground and lets him close in, until he’s near enough that Otabek can smell the tang of sweat on his skin and hear the rattle in his lungs as he breathes. 

“What do you think you’re going to do about it, kid?” As expected, he reaches for Otabek’s shirt. 

It’s a classic move - grab the smaller guy by the shirt, lift him in the air. Bullies like these think they’re original for it every time.

But Otabek is ready. Before the guy can even lay a finger on him, he slides his right hand back beneath his jacket and pulls the taser from his belt. He flicks the switch and reaches out to press the little metal teeth against the ogre’s wrist.

It’s only the lowest setting, but Scar-face jumps back like Otabek hit him with 50,000 volts, scrambling to get away while clutching his arm tight to his chest.

He bumps “Rog” in the process, who drops his grip on the fairy to grab at his buddy, both of them almost falling over each other in their haste to get away.

Otabek shakes his head as they flee, watching until they both vanish around a corner. Ogres. All bluster and no bite.

The fairy rights himself, brushing at his ragged jeans - a useless gesture given the stains and spots on the denim that look permanent. He scowls up at Otabek through a curtain of tangled yellow hair. 

“I could have taken them,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” Otabek responds, and the fairy grunts in acknowledgement, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Does that happen often?”

“Often enough,” the fairy grumbles. “Fucking dust fiends.” He starts to shake out his wings, then stops, wincing. Away from the wall, Otabek can see a thin crease in the papery texture of one gold-tinged wing. It’s not a tear, but it’s not a good sign, either.

“You’re hurt,” Otabek says, reaching out. “Here, let me help.” 

His fingertips have barely touched the sleeve of the fairy’s shirt before he’s jerking away, back to the wall again. “I’m fine,” he hisses, face contorted with pain where’s he’s once more scraping his delicate wings against the rock. “It’ll come out on its own.”

“Okay,” Otabek says, dropping his hand back to his side. “If that’s what you want, it’s up to you. But if you’d like, I’m going somewhere that might be able to help.” The fairy is watching him, layers of suspicion blanketing spring green eyes, but doesn’t make a move to leave. “I’m Otabek, by the way.”

There’s no silence in a city this size. The distant roar of truck engines and the wail of sirens play soundtrack to the fairy’s waiting, until Otabek glances down at his phone, growing impatient. He doesn’t have all day. 

“Yuri,” the fairy says at last. “But I’m not interested in being dragged into your heroic quest to meet the hoary old wizard on Mystic Mountain.”

“It’s only a couple blocks. But I need to get going, so if you’re not coming-”

“No,” Yuri says, pushing away from the wall. He stops at arm’s length from Otabek. Up close, he’s taller than Otabek had expected from his slight build - a full head taller than he is. “I’ll come, if you’re going anyway.”

Nodding, Otabek looks down at his phone again. The little blue dot blinks up at him, then jumps to somewhere by a lake before reappearing. Damn. Of course, walking side by side with a magical creature isn’t going to do his signal any favors.

“This way,” he says, cutting through the alley. He resists adding, _I think_.

They twist through back alleys and run across traffic-clogged roads, following the dot whenever it chooses to appear. Yuri is silent but watchful. Occasionally, he jogs ahead, then hangs back, waiting for Otabek to catch up despite his initial reluctance to join him.

“What?” he snaps, breaking his mute streak when Otabek’s eyes linger on his wings too long. His shoulders must have been itching from the sensation of being watched.

It’s probably not polite to ask, but then again, Yuri doesn’t seem like a bastion of etiquette. “You don’t look like the other fairies,” Otabek says. “Not like the ones on TV.”

The dirt on his face, the way his skin didn’t shimmer with dust residue - those had been the first things out of place. Yuri’s bad attitude seems strange, too, but maybe it’s racist to think fairies are all chipper and friendly. His height is _definitely_ outside of normal.

Yuri shrugs. “I’m only a half-breed. It’s just bad luck that I take after my mom. Junkies hunting for a fix are too desperate see the difference.”

Otabek nods along, as if that’s what he expected. He hadn’t. Half-ogres and half-dwarves, sure, but he’s never come across a half-fairy before. For one thing, they’re not known to be particularly good parents. 

Judging from the look on Yuri’s face, that’s probably true.

He opens his mouth to say - something - and his phone beeps loudly. 

_You have arrived at your destination._

“ _This_?” Yuri asked, incredulity laced through his voice. “This is your great quest?”

Otabek only shrugs. The building stares at them from across the cracked pavement with wide, black eyes. There are bars on the doors and windows, and more than a few shingles missing from the roof. One of the panes of tinted glass is split on the diagonal by a long crack. The only sign that the building isn’t abandoned or closed is the man crouching on the front steps, sucking on a cigarette as if it’s his last. 

It may not look impressive, but appearances rarely say much about what’s inside.

He jogs across the street, and Yuri follows in spite of his complaints. The man on the stairs turns his head to follow them as they pass, his eyes a blank milky blue. He doesn’t say a word or change his expression. Otabek can’t help but wonder what he might have done if they hadn’t satisfied his requirements.

There’s no outward indicator that the building is even a business, but Otabek tries the knob. It swings open easily beneath his hand. 

Inside, the waiting area is worn but clean. There’s a thin grey carpet beneath his feet and a line of folding chairs against the wall. A coffee table sits at the center of the room, piled high with old magazines. 

Otabek bypasses all of that for the woman seated behind the window on the opposite wall. As he approaches, she slides the scratched plastic aside. 

“Name?” she asks, looking utterly disinterested in the answer.

“Altin. I’m here for a pick-up.”

Her eyes slide past him, giving Yuri a leisurely once-over. “And is _he_ with you as well?”

“I don’t have an appointment,” Yuri answers before Otabek can. 

The receptionist sighs, but passes a clipboard through the window to Yuri, then indicates a nearby door with her thumb. “Take that and go to room two, and you,” she looks back at Otabek. “Go take a seat wherever.”

Otabek nods to Yuri and finds an empty folding chair a few seats away from a waifish, dark-skinned woman who is bouncing a toddler with sharply pointed ears. She stops jiggling her knee for a moment and the baby lets out a low wail of despair that crawls up Otabek’s spine and nests in his gut.

Cooing, the exhausted woman shifts the babe to the other leg and begins to jostle him again.

Leaning back in his chair, Otabek checks his phone. The screen jumps and shifts beneath his fingers, a violent reaction to whatever mysteries lie behind the many doors. With everything that happened, he forgot to keep track of the time, but he’s relieved to see that it’s still early afternoon. He has plenty of time to wait here and still catch the bus back home.

He tries to pass the time by playing games, but his phone’s display can’t stay still enough for him to manipulate the puzzles with any accuracy. After a few attempts, he gets frustrated and puts the phone face down in his lap. 

He should have asked Yuri if he ought to wait around, assuming they call him before the fairy gets out. Even though Yuri wasn’t part of his quest, there are still a few lingering threads of fate that he can feel stretching between them, and, given what happened in the alley, Yuri may not want to walk home alone through this neighborhood. He should wait.

The receptionist calls the mother and child to the window, passes them a white paper bag, and they leave. An elderly man comes in on crutches, one leg on his jeans hanging empty, and disappears immediately into another room. Otabek can hear a radio playing somewhere in the building, quietly jumping from classical strings to soft static.

He jumps at a sudden click. Must have nodded off. Yuri walks over to stand beside his chair.

“All better?” Otabek asks, and Yuri flutters his wings in response. There’s a healthy shimmer to the translucent panes that wasn’t there before, and the crease is completely gone. Yuri even smiles at him - proud, even teeth peeking out. It’s a good look on him. He probably cleans up well.

“Still waiting?” he says.

At that, the plastic window slides open again. “Altin?” the woman calls out, as if Otabek weren’t the only person in the waiting room. He goes to the window, and the woman pushes a wrinkled paper bag through the space at him. 

“What do I owe you?” he asks reflexively.

But the woman only shakes her head. “You’ll know.” Her expression doesn’t so much as twitch.

“What?” Yuri’s voice leaks outrage. “What the fuck does that mean?” He grabs Otabek’s arm, his fingers digging into his elbow through the thick hide of the jacket. “Don’t take that deal,” he hisses. “It’s not worth it.”

Otabek shakes him off. “It is to me,” he says calmly. “Stay out of it.” 

Before Yuri can stop him, he sticks his hand through the open window, and the woman shakes it. Her eyes flare yellow, and there’s a whiff of jasmine in the air, and then she releases him, slamming the window shut almost too quick for him to pull away.

He grabs the bag from the counter and goes the leave. He has what he needed. The important thing now is to get home before dark. The man on the steps nods at him as he jogs down, and the bars on the door clang shut behind him with finality.

“What the hell was that?” Yuri shouts, close on his heels. It’s the only warning he gets before the bag rips, and he’s left holding only the crumpled top half in his hand.

A plastic soda bottle drops to the ground between them. It rolls silently toward the street, the purple and silver mixture inside swirling like galaxies. Otabek dives for it, hitting his knees hard on the pavement as he snatches it up, clutching the mixture to his chest before it can fall beneath the wheels of a passing car.

He turns, ready to snap at Yuri for meddling, and sees the fairy staring down at the ripped paper bag still dangling from his hand. There’s a name scrawled out on it in jagged black sharpie: _Rayana Altin_.

“Who-?”

“My sister.”

Down the street, a dog barks. There’s a sound of breaking glass, then a car alarm. The man on the clinic steps coughs out a cloud of opalescent smoke.

“My family was pure human for generations,” Otabek admits. “Nothing special. When I came along, I was the weird one. Why would we suddenly have a hero in the family after all these years? And then Rayana was born.”

Yuri is still silent, watching. The bottle is warm against Otabek’s hand - warmer than just body heat would make it. “This is my quest,” he admits. “I had to come here, had to find this for Rayana. Now I have to take it back to her, but…” 

He hesitates. He’s never been the type to let destiny drag him around by the balls, except for now. Just this once, he wants to: “Come with me?”

Yuri’s green eyes are sharp as blades as he stares at Otabek. “Do what now?”

“Come with me,” Otabek repeats. “It’s not a coincidence. You’re part of this too, and,” he feels his mouth twist, memory pushing him toward a smile. “Rayana told me she always wanted to meet a real fairy.”

“Half-fairy,” Yuri corrects. He bites his lip, staring down at Otabek, still kneeling on the ground. “Ah, hell,” he mutters. “Why not?” 

The half-fairy puts out his slim-fingered hand, all dirt smudges and jagged nails, and Otabek makes his second contract of the night, palm to palm on a cracked city sidewalk as Yuri helps him back to his feet. 

Between their linked hands, the path of his future expands, and fate rises up like from the subway grates to surround them both.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumble me](http://louciferish.tumblr.com)


End file.
